


The Love Song of A. Mitford-Spencer

by cottagekrobus (Mark_Crorigan), Mark_Crorigan



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dom Harvey, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Morosexual Harvey, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Slow Burn, Unrequited Crush, please ao3 I am begging you let me indent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:21:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29354118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mark_Crorigan/pseuds/cottagekrobus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mark_Crorigan/pseuds/Mark_Crorigan
Summary: At 23, Agricola Mitford-Spencer has a bright future: a promising acting career, a loving fiancé, a small but dependable network of close  friends. But a sudden tragedy causes her world as she knows it to crumble around her, and her mother reminds her of a promise made between a little girl and her grandfather more than sixteen years ago that could give Agricola another chance to find happiness.
Relationships: Elliott/Female Player (Stardew Valley), Elliott/Player (Stardew Valley), Harvey (Stardew Valley)/Original Female Character(s), Harvey/Female Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Prologue: A Woman More Sinned Against Than Sinning

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone interested (which is a sum total of nobody but I'll tell you anyway), 'agricola' just means 'farmer' in Latin because I am infinitely and in equal parts creative and hilarious. The majority of this is shameless self-indulgence with just a sprinkle of angst for some spice because fictional characters were made to suffer for my entertainment and I do not intend to give Agricola any special treatment in that regard my luvs. en knee weighs my SDV tumblr is the same as my pseud if you're inch rested in seeing my shitposts, make sure you smash that mfing like button and subcrode for more of my irregular-at-best content and be sure to leave a comment explaining in intimate detail exactly how much you want me to fuck with these characters because I'm just in one of those moods at the moment my dallins xoxoxox

Grampleton Garden Theatre, 10:18 PM. _King Lear _closing night. Agricola inhaled deeply in the wings, straining against her baby-blue bodice that had been laced just a little too tightly. Roger heard her and offered her a sympathetic smile.__

____

____

“Nervous?” he whispered.

Agricola nodded. “A little.”

“You should be. I heard that Simon invited a group of agents from Zuzu City.”

_“What?” _Agricola hissed, louder than she meant to, and was hushed by a stern-faced stage technician.__

____

____

“The gods defend her! Hear him hence awhile.” cried Marcus from the stage, giving them their cue while Charlie was hauled off by a group of soldiers.

“That’s us.” said Agricola, sighing again. “Please don’t drop me as hard as you did last night, my back is still killing me.”

Roger chuckled and scooped her up into his arms, careful not to tangle her skirts in his grip. She went limp, and Roger stepped out under the hot lights.

“Howl, howl, howl, howl! Oh, you are men of stones!” He bellowed mournfully. Of all the talented older men in the company, Agricola was secretly very grateful that Simon had chosen Roger to play Lear. He’d taken her under his wing when she joined, fresh out of university and still little more than a child of barely 21, assumed the role of her mentor as she clawed through the ranks until finally Simon had considered her worthy of roles larger than the single-line servant’s patter she’d been relegated to for her first few productions. Xanthias, Beatrice, Electra, and now Cordelia, these were the roles that had earnt cherished seats among Agricola’s fondest memories. And there were agents in the audience? If she had any more lines to deliver she would surely have forgotten them from excitement.

She felt several pairs of hands help Roger lower her to the floor. They must have heard the little grunt she made last night when Roger got carried away in Lear’s grief. Soon she felt Roger collapse beside her as Lear died for the final time, leaving him vacant to play another doomed leader. What would Simon choose next? He only did classical plays and Shakespeare, that was made very clear to Agricola when she auditioned, and frankly it didn’t bother her, musicals weren’t really her style. They must be due another Greek comedy by now, had he muttered something about _Lysistrata _a few months ago?__

____

____

Before she had time to consider her next audition piece, Roger nudged her and she reanimated, rising from the dead and bowing, unable to keep the grin from her face as she tucked another successful performance under her girdle. She scanned the roaring audience, looking for the agents, and was thrilled by how many attendees had risen to their feet in praise. The assembled company gave one final bow, then departed into the wings.

The women’s dressing room hummed with excited chatter. Miriam and Julie (Goneril and Regan respectively) crept up behind Agricola as she loosened her hair and the three embraced tightly, giggling like schoolgirls. 

“Did Roger tell you there might have been agents in the audience?” Agricola asked when they released, finally able to breathe properly as she unlaced her bodice.

“Oh Yoba, he thought it was a great idea to tell me that just before I went on for 3/7. I was so preoccupied trying to figure out who they were I nearly missed my cue for the eye-gouging.” grumbled Julie, unpinning her own hair.

Agricola cackled and continued disrobing. She hung her costume on the rack and set about retrieving her clothes, scattered about the room haphazardly in her rush to dress having spent longer than she realised outside the stage door gossiping on the phone to her mother. The one thing she had set down with care, however, was her new engagement ring - it had apparently belonged to Michael’s grandmother, a slender silver band that curled elegantly around an impressively large diamond for such a young couple. She slid it on her finger with a satisfied smile. If she had told her 18-year-old self that the aloof, gangly law student who kept appearing in her bed during Fresher’s Week would be on the verge of tears proposing to her just three short years later, she would have scoffed. She couldn’t quite decide if she felt at all similar to the neurotic, aggressively competitive theology student she was when she met Michael. Part of her hoped that she had progressed past that (or was at least in the process of doing so), yet in her heart she knew that she bore more resemblance to that homesick child than she would ever admit.

She stepped out of the stage door into the cool night air, watching her breath curl in clouds around her head as she pulled her duffle coat a little tighter around her. Roger and the others waved her down. “Coming to the pub?” he called. Before she could answer, she felt her phone begin to buzz in her pocket.

“Yes, give me just a second.” she replied. She fished her phone out and smiled again when she saw Michael’s contact. “Hi darling, are you on your way?” 

“Agricola Mitford-Spencer?”

Agricola froze. That wasn’t Michael’s voice.

“Yes, who is this?” She asked in as calm a voice as she could muster.

“My name is Dr Campbell, I’m afraid I have to tell you that Michael has been involved in an accident.”

“What? How serious?” Agricola’s very heart felt like it was shaking.

“Rather serious. He was unconscious when he was brought in and had to go straight into theatre. We’d be grateful if you could come to Grampleton General as soon as possible.”

For a moment Agricola couldn’t even speak. She wet her lips. “I… I will. Thank you.” She said weakly, ending the call.

Her hand dropped to her side as dread began to pool in her stomach. Her eyes began to prick with hot tears as her mind was bombarded with horrible images of Michael, bloodied and mangled. She didn’t even realise when she began to wail quietly, only clapping a hand over her mouth when a large hand gently touched her shoulder.

“What’s up, Aggie?” Roger’s calming voice asked. Without thinking Agricola crumpled against his chest, shivering.

“Michael’s in hospital.” Her voice was muffled against his thick sweater.

“Oh Yoba…” Roger held her by the shoulders and crouched so he was at eye level with her. “What happened?”

“I-I don’t know, they just said an accident. He had to have surgery.” Agricola choked as her tears spilt from her eyes and her nose began to run.

“Grampleton General?” Agricola nodded. Roger rolled his lips and pulled the girl closer again for a moment. “We’d better get you there.” He steered her in the direction of the theatre carpark. “Go on without us, something’s come up.” He called to the rest of the main players, still waiting in the street.

The journey to the hospital felt agonisingly long. Roger made little attempt to calm Agricola’s mind, knowing how futile it would be. She ran at the doors so quickly she nearly smashed straight through them, and the nurse at reception had to ask her to repeat her panicked speech several times. When Roger joined her at the desk, fresh tears were forming in Agricola’s eyes. The nurse asked them to sit down while he called Dr Campbell. The doctor appeared soon, a willowy, sensible-looking woman with neat black hair and a sloped, elegant nose.

“Agricola Mitford-Spencer?” She asked in the same hesitant tone she had used on the phone.

Agricola nodded, and Dr Campbell turned to Roger. “Are you Mr Mitford-Spencer?”

Under less trying circumstances, Agricola would have chuckled. Roger was often mistaken for her father, and in many ways he and his husband had served as surrogate parents to Agricola while she was away from home.

“Roger Kingsley. I’m a friend of Agricola and Michael.” He shook the doctor’s hand politely.

“Apologies.” Dr Campbell began. “Agricola, I need to speak with you about Michael’s condition alone. If you’d like to follow me.”

“I’d really feel more comfortable if Roger was with me.” Agricola said in a wavering voice.

Dr Campbell hesitated, looking back and forth between Agricola and Roger. “If you’re sure.”

She led them through sterile, busy corridors, the smell and sounds of the sick and the dying enough to make Agricola’s already unsettled stomach turn, until finally they were ushered into a small consultancy room. She gestured for Agricola and Roger to sit down.

“I’m afraid I have some upsetting news. When Michael was brought in, he’d lost a lot of blood. Although a transfusion was performed en route, his vitals continued to deteriorate when he was brought into theatre.” Dr Campbell sat down next to Agricola, who stared in horror at her with glossy eyes and her lip quivering. “I’m very sorry Agricola, but we weren’t able to save Michael.”

For a moment, Agricola’s brain simply refused to hear the doctor’s voice. She just sat there, utterly dumbstruck, as Roger gently pulled her into his arms. A violent wave of nausea brought her senses back. “Oh Yoba…” she choked out as sob after sob ripped through her body, longing for nothing more than that morning where she could hold Michael in her arms and feel his heartbeat beneath her cheek. Roger began to rock her gently, forcing back his own tears and holding Agricola’s head against his chest.

When they finally left the hospital, Roger drove Agricola back to her apartment to pack a bag before he took her to his own house, unwilling to leave her by herself after such news. She was half-expecting, half-praying, that she’d walk in to see Michael sitting on the couch with a smug grin on his face, and he’d announce that it had all been a sick joke. She’d be furious with him, but more importantly she’d be able to run into his arms and shriek at him to never scare her like that again. But she couldn’t, and she opened the door to a dark empty room where she nearly collapsed completely. Every single tiny trinket there screamed his name; the smart shoes lined up by the door, the antique bust of Dionysus on the mantelpiece he'd bought her for her 20th birthday, the empty wine glass on the coffee table. But she willed her wobbling legs to propel her into their bedroom, averting her eyes from the various pictures of them together. She opened her drawers and shoved things into a bag at random, her vision almost as blurred as her mind. Without meaning to, she caught sight of the t-shirt Michael had slept in the night before and tossed onto the unmade bed, and couldn’t help but grasp it as tightly as if it were him. She fell back onto the bed and inhaled deeply, as if she could breathe him out for one last kiss. She stuffed the shirt into her bag and dragged herself to the doorway, where Roger waited, concern etched into his forehead. 

Bill greeted Agricola at the door to their stylish townhouse with a silent embrace. Roger must have told him what had happened. He held her damp face in his hands and examined her. "It's all so desperately unfair, Aggie. I don't know what to say. Poor little girl, I'm so sorry." He hugged her again. "I'll go and put the kettle on. Cup of hot chocolate? Some of Uncle Bill's special happy-juice?" he rubbed her cheek with a finger. Agricola offered him a watery smile. 

"Thank you." She breathed. Bill turned back into the house, while Roger climbed the steps holding Agricola’s bag.

"In you go Aggie, you know where the kitchen is." said Roger. 

Aggie shuffled through the entry hall, glaring enviously at Roger and Bill's wedding photos on display on a console table. She descended the steps to the kitchen, hearing the kettle start to whistle.

"Sit yourself down, poppet." said Bill, setting a steaming mug in front of a chair and patting the table. She did as she was told. He sat down opposite her, and Roger joined them in the third seat. The fourth and final seat seemed unbearably empty. _'He should be there' _thought Agricola.__

____

____

Noticing her yearning look, Roger cleared his throat softly. "Aggie… I know there's not really anything we can say or do that will make tonight even remotely alright, but if you think of anything we can do, anything at all, to make it any less painful you must tell us." He took her limp hand and squeezed it.

"Short of necromancy. We're still getting to grips with that." said Bill. His tone was so inappropriate that Agricola couldn't help but let out a loud bark that another time might have been a laugh. 

"You know… at primary school, when somebody asked why people die, the teacher said it was because Yoba needed them in heaven." Agricola drew a shaky breath, her voice cracking. "I don't understand why Yoba needs him more than I do. I still don't know even after three years of theology." A fat pair of tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto the table. 

"She doesn't, Aggie." said Bill quietly. "There's no good reason to explain why he's not sitting there right now, because we all know you deserve for him to be."

Agricola forced herself to sip her hot chocolate. It was still slightly too hot, but the pleasant bittersweetness of the rum Bill had mixed into it helped to dull her thoughts a little. "Lovely hot chocolate, thank you."

"That's alright, poppet, do you want anything to eat?"

Agricola shook her head. "No thank you, I feel a little sick actually. I'm sorry we didn't go to the pub, Roger."

Roger scoffed. "Don't be so silly Aggie, this is far more important." 

Agricola smiled weakly at them again, wishing she had the energy to express her gratitude properly. They sat there in understanding silence for several minutes while Agricola sipped, and when she finished, Bill and Roger rose to show her to the guest bedroom.

"We're just across the hall if you need us." Roger said, and the couple pulled her into a paternal hug.

"He'd be so proud of you Aggie." offered Bill. Agricola gave an assenting hum, biting the inside of her cheek. Bill gave a worried look at Roger, who nodded slightly. Bill nodded back and slipped into their bedroom. 

"You'll be alright, Aggie, I promise. It won't seem like it now, but there is life after this." Roger said. He was right, to Agricola this certainly felt like the end of her life, at least as she knew it. "Try and sleep. Being tired won't make you feel any better." 

"I know. Thank you so much for everything, Roger." 

"You know you're welcome, Aggie. And you're welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Now, go and get some sleep. Goodnight." 

The days leading up to the funeral were an agonising blur of condolence messages and day drinking. Unable to bear the thought of her empty flat, Agricola took up Roger's offer to stay with them, and all three of them spent most of the days she was there lying on the sofa watching mindless television. But if the run up to the funeral was painful, the event itself was excruciating. It was the first time since the morning of that awful day that Agricola would be able to see Michael, and she took the earliest possible opportunity to do so. She hurried to his coffin, past his older brother she'd never really got on with and his mother with whom she was now doomed to compete over who suffered his loss more, to make sure she was the first one there, and gripped the wood so tightly her knuckles turned even whiter.

He looked strangely beautiful - not the sunny, charming beauty that shone from him just last week, but beauty nonetheless - lying there as if asleep. His chestnut hair had been arranged neatly, framing his soft, serene face with lips parted slightly. His hands were folded across his stomach, skin spectre-pale. He was dressed in a beautifully tailored suit, the sort that Agricola had imagined him wearing at their wedding, due to take place just next spring. His cause of death had been declared internal bleeding. She leant closer to his ghostly face. "I love you, Michael. I love you so much that I don't think I'll ever love anyone again. And I'm scared, I'm so scared that you're my soulmate and that I'll never be happy again." She gingerly placed a hand on his, horrified by how cold it was. _Her _Michael's hands were never cold, they were always lovely and warm and so happy to hold her. But of course, this wasn't her Michael anymore. Her Michael had gone to a better place (so she had been told) and left her behind to count down the days until she could join him. In that moment, she felt intensely angry: at Michael, at Yoba, at herself. She lowered her lips to his and got her final kiss, just before the service began.__

____

____

After the wake, she went home. Not to her apartment, she still couldn't face the void left by Michael's absence, but home to her parents' house in the small town outside Grampleton where she'd spent her childhood. Her mother and father wept with her at Michael's funeral, and they drove back in almost total silence.

Her mother had encouraged her to change out of her mourning clothes, and she was all too happy to be welcomed back in by her childhood bedroom. Her rows of cuddly toys gazed pleadingly at her. She sat down in front of the dressing table and stared at herself, not quite recognising the gaunt creature staring back at her. The girlish plumpness in her usually pink cheeks had faded, now hollow and sickly, and her wheat-coloured curls hung limply around her face. She looked as if she belonged in that coffin just as much as Michael. She put his t-shirt on, hugging the fabric to her body.

When she finally went back downstairs, her mother was sitting in the kitchen with an envelope on the table. "How are you feeling, duckling?" her mother asked when she sat down.

"Still pretty rubbish." She croaked.

Her mother shifted in her seat. "Do you remember Grandpa at all?" 

Agricola nodded. She could vaguely picture him in her mind. After he and her grandmother divorced when her mother was still a teenager, he had stayed on their farm on the coast while Granny had moved back to the Grampleton area with her new husband (a jovial, down-to-earth man whom she had considered her grandfather since she was a baby, but she and her cousins called Bamps for the sake of differentiation). What had stuck in her mind of Grandpa was his death. He had died when Agricola was at the awkward age when she knew that death existed, but didn't really understand what it was. She remembered his laboured breaths as he beckoned her closer, but she had clung to her mother's trouser leg and had to be pushed towards him. She remembered that he'd patted her tiny hand and given her an envelope, but she couldn't remember what he'd said about it. That was the same envelope, now yellowed with age, the same purple seal. Her mother pushed it towards her. 

"I think now's the time for you to read this."


	2. Chapter I: Et In Arcadia Ego

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agricola moves to Pelican Town and is already starting beef

Agricola turned her face towards the afternoon sunlight. Her luggage was piled around her, containing what little she chose to keep of her life in Grampleton. The bust of Dionysus was tucked awkwardly against her ribs and she began to fiddle with the ring hanging from a skinny black ribbon around her neck. She turned her head sharply when she heard the crunch of boots on the dirt road. A redheaded woman was approaching, waving to her. Agricola smiled nervously and lifted a hand in response.

“Hello! You must be Agricola.” greeted the woman. “I’m Robin, the local carpenter. Mayor Lewis sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home. He’s there right now, tidying things up for your arrival.”

“Lovely to meet you, Robin.” Agricola’s voice sounded meek and childlike, and she hugged the Dionysus bust a little closer when Robin seized her hand in a vicelike grip.

“The farm’s right over here, if you’ll follow me” Robin hoisted Agricola’s bags onto her shoulders and set off down the trail, Agricola scurrying at her heels like a lost puppy and dragging her suitcase across the rough ground.

“I heard you came from Grampleton?” Robin asked over her shoulder as they walked.

“Yah, I went there for university then got a job as a stage actress.” Agricola replied, stumbling as the smooth heels of her loafers skidded on the dirt.

Robin whistled. “Sounds glamorous. Grampleton’s a nice town, what made you leave?”

Agricola thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. She didn't want to talk at length about her real reasons, but hadn’t anticipated being asked the question before she’d had the chance to come up with a more palatable excuse. “I think I just needed a fresh start. Grampleton’s lovely, but it can drain you a bit if you’re not careful.” She left it at that for now. It seemed to satisfy Robin’s curiosity.

Soon a wooden gate came into view, and Robin bumped it open with her hip. “This is Arcadia Farm.”

Agricola stepped past the gate and surveyed the land in mounting dismay. It had clearly not been tended to for many years, and the dense woodland surrounding its borders had crept further and further inward. Agricola trod tentatively, the weeds rustling beneath her feet.

Robin set the bags down on the porch of the old cottage. “What’s the matter? Sure, it’s a bit overgrown, but there’s some good soil underneath that mess! With a little dedication you’ll have it cleaned up in no time.”

Agricola swallowed. The longer she looked, the worse it seemed to get. She could see rocks in the distance, some more like boulders, gnarled logs with bare branches littered next to tree stumps. The sorriest sight of all was the remains of what must have once been a greenhouse, now little more than a skeleton, its glass panels scattered in tiny shards around its perimeter. She nodded, and tried to smile, though she felt like she was about to faint.

“Here we are, your new home.” Robin gestured up to the farmhouse. Agricola had no memory of the place - she hadn’t seen it since she was a child, and she suspected that even if she had, its current state would render it near unrecognisable. It was larger than Agricola had been expecting, but this just made the extent of the repairs that it clearly needed even more daunting. There was a flicker of movement behind the door, and it creaked open. An old man in brown dungarees stepped out, coughing slightly.

“Ah, the new farmer!” he smiled and extended a hand towards Agricola. “Welcome! I’m Lewis, Mayor of Pelican Town.”

Agricola hugged the bust again, gingerly taking his hand and shaking it. “Agricola Mitford-Spencer.” 

“You know, everyone’s been asking about you.” Lewis continued. “It’s not everyday that someone moves in, it's quite a big deal!” The hollow sensation in the pit of Agricola’s stomach returned. She’d been hoping that she could arrive quietly, unannounced, and slowly make her presence known when she felt ready. She no longer commanded the stage, nor did she want to for some time, but it seemed the people around her were as scrutinous of her entrances and exits as ever. 

She forced a queasy smile as Lewis turned back to look at the house. “So… You’re moving into your grandfather’s old cottage. It’s a good house. Very ‘rustic’.” he commented politely, having clearly rehearsed his phrasing beforehand.

“Rustic, that’s one way to put it. ‘Crusty’ might be a little more apt though.” Robin remarked. Perhaps Agricola just wasn’t accustomed to the local sense of humour, but she felt the distinct absence of the need to laugh. She flicked her eyes over Robin, who was clearly too pleased with herself to notice Agricola’s sneer.

“Don’t listen to her, Agricola.” said Lewis. Agricola planned on heeding his words. “She’s just trying to make you dissatisfied so that you buy one of her house upgrades.”. That put a swift end to Robin’s tittering. She huffed and crossed her arms, avoiding the mayor’s stern gaze.

“Anyway,” Lewis continued. “You must be tired from the long journey. You should get some rest. Tomorrow you ought to explore the town a bit and introduce yourself.” Agricola gave a slight grimace that she didn’t exactly mean to let show on her face. Lewis must have noticed the curl of her lip. “The townspeople would appreciate that.” he added, now more like he was making a request of her than giving advice. Agricola sighed and nodded.

“Of course. Thank you Mayor, Robin.” She began to ascend the steps to the porch, which creaked ominously.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” said the Mayor, turning around again. He gestured to a large hinged crate next to the farm’s entrance. “If you have anything to sell, just place it in this box here. I’ll come by during the night to collect it. Well… Good luck!” With a final wave he and Robin set off down the dirt path.

Now alone, Agricola could finally allow her face to reflect the anxiousness gripping her mind. She leant heavily against the door, bracing herself with a sigh and opened it with another loud creak. The interior was sparsely decorated. A fireplace sat against the far wall, mouth agape and shoulders hunched. Beside it was a boxy television the likes of which Agricola was not wholly convinced she could remember how to set up. A modest kitchen lay to her left, floored with once-fashionable checkered linoleum. There were two doors on the right wall, one leading to the bedroom, the other the bathroom. Agricola entered the bedroom and carefully set the bust down on top of the chest of drawers. He stared out into the room with cold indifference. If Agricola were just slightly more unhinged, she would have thought he looked rather displeased with his new surroundings. ”Sorry Bacchus.” she said, looking around the room herself. “Just something we have to live with for now.” She made a mental note to place a Jojakea order as soon as humanly possible.

She slowly began the surprisingly draining task of hauling her luggage inside. It mostly consisted of clothes and toiletries, having been assured the farmhouse would be equipped with all the basic amenities. Still, as she unpacked she couldn’t silence the nagging voice at the back of her mind insisting that she’d made the wrong choice. “What the fuck am I doing here?” she asked aloud, though to whom she wasn’t sure. To Bacchus, to Michael, to her grandfather. Maybe she’d go out of her mind from loneliness faster than she thought. Can you die of loneliness? Something to research when she inevitably couldn’t sleep tonight. She sat down on her bed. What _was_ she doing here? She’d gone from being alone, but still having friends, a job, furniture, to being alone and having… nothing. She rubbed her hands over her face, trying to stop herself from crying again. She failed, and she crumpled over in resignation, gasping into her hands.

_'Get a grip, Aggie.'_

She bit down on the inside of her cheek, hard. Yoba, she was hungry. She had a rough idea of the layout of Pelican Town, at least she knew there was a little family-owned shop in the square. If she didn’t stand up now she never would, so she forced herself off the bed and fished her handbag from a suitcase. She gave a defeated groan at the rest of her luggage, still trailed halfway between the front door and the bedroom. Fuck it, she could deal with it later.

The walk into town was shorter than she’d thought, and more pleasant. Without the apprehension of seeing the farm for the first time, she could now appreciate the scenery in the valley a little more. On all sides were rolling green hills, lush and fecund. Little clumps of daisies peeped through the grass either side of the path, and the bright blue sky was streaked with clouds. The air certainly felt purer than it did in the exciting buzz of Grampleton, and the rush of cars was replaced with the chirping of birds and squirrels. The landscape was something she could only have dreamt of before, as she ran half-drunk through art museums with a gaggle of now long lost university companions. The dirt road slowly morphed into uneven cobbles as she approached the town square. It didn’t take long for her to identify the shop - a small wooden sign protruded from the building on an iron rod that proudly bore the words “Pierre’s General Store”. She passed what appeared to be, judging from the signage, a doctor’s surgery. Out of mild curiosity, she peered at the little bronze plaque by the door. _Dr H. Mayhew - GP._

The square was strangely quiet. Two women stood near a flowerbed, chattering and giving Agricola shy, curious looks. A young man who looked around Agricola’s age leant against a wooden dog’s pen, a gridball at his feet. Other than them, the square was deserted. Agricola walked up to the doors of the shop and pulled. They didn’t budge. She tried again, then saw a small notice tacked up on the inside. _Closed on Wednesdays_. “What the fuck?” Agricola murmured. What kind of shop closes on Wednesdays? Agricola exhaled. There was a JojaMart a little further into town, but Agricola was more than familiar with their opening hours and it was far too late by now. There must be somewhere she could get food, a pub perhaps?

She felt a drop on her cheek. Then another. She looked up and was hit in the eye by another. A grey cloud had suddenly floated over the town square, forcing Agricola to run for shelter in the large red-brick building opposite the shop. Well, that solved her one problem. She’d found the pub. It had a strange charm to it, in a slightly frumpy sort of way. A jukebox sat in the corner, playing some kind of honky-tonk music under the sound of small groups of people talking and drinking. Behind the bar, a round little man was polishing glasses. Agricola approached, slipping onto a barstool and looking around. The wooden panelling and the log fire crackling on the far side gave the room a homely feel, and the barstools were comfortable enough. It wasn’t exactly the kind of exclusive social hotspot that Agricola had frequented in Grampleton, but it had enough booze lining the wall behind the bar to keep her quiet for a while at least.

“Well, hello there! I’m Gus, chef and owner of the Stardrop Saloon.” said the man, offering her a broad smile. “I’ve not seen you around before, are you the new farmer then? What’s your name?”

“Agricola, and I guess I’m supposed to be. I don’t really have a clue what I’m doing here to be perfectly honest.” The corners of Agricola’s mouth twitched upward.

“Does anyone, really? Tell you something, if you go out of here, turn left, go down past the Mayor’s house then across the bridge over the river you’ll come to the library. I can’t guarantee there’ll be a great deal of material, I wouldn’t really know that sort of thing, but it’s worth a look, eh? Listen to me blabber, can I get you anything?”

Agricola looked up at the clock, tempted. “It’s a little early for me… sod it, do you do cocktails here?”

Gus’ eyes widened and he leant against the bar. “Sure do, it’s been a while since anyone asked for one. What do you fancy?”

Agricola chuckled. “I’m a Grampleton girl, it comes with the territory. Can I have a bramble?”

"Ahh, I can tell already you’re going to be trouble. One bramble, coming right up.” He gave her a playful smile and set the berry-purple drink down in front of her, and she made an approving noise as she sipped. “You must tell me if I’m being nosy, but that necklace. You’re young to be a widow.”

Agricola paused and put the glass down slowly, instinctively beginning to fiddle with her ring again. “I’m not, not technically. We were supposed to be getting married at the end of the spring.”

“Say no more.” Gus nodded solemnly. Agricola heard the door to the saloon open, and the sound of rain outside. “Evening Harvey. I’ve got a pot of coffee with your name on it, I think you’ll like this blend. Agricola, have you met Dr Mayhew yet?”

Agricola turned around and yelped at the sight of the man in the doorway, nearly toppling straight off the barstool. He was Michael, with glasses and a moustache. They had the same warm-brown curls, the same kind hazel eyes sheltered by the same bushy eyebrows, they ever wore the same style of brogues. He was the man Michael should have become, and instead he was dead and gone while this… _pretender_ mocked them both with his very existence. How dare he stand there, smiling pleasantly at her, so real and full of life and probably married to someone else? _‘I hate you, Harvey Mayhew.’_ a venomous little voice hissed in the back of her mind, and Agricola fought to keep her lips from curving bitterly as he approached, hands outstretched.

“Are you alright? I didn’t mean to startle you, my apologies.” Even his voice was Michael's. What a cruel prank Yoba seemed to be playing on Agricola. He extended a hand to her. She eyed it uncertainly, then shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Harvey, the town doctor.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, I’m sure. Agricola Mitford-Spencer.” She said with chilly formality. To her chagrin, he perched on the barstool next to her and Gus placed a cup of coffee in front of him. _‘Fuck off Not-Michael, fuck off Not-Michael, fuck off Not-Michael.’_ the hate-goblin chanted in her head, drowning out what sounded like an attempt at small-talk. She nodded and made vague noises accordingly until she realised that the silence between them was him waiting for her to answer a question. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said, can I expect to see you in the clinic soon? I try to do checkups on all new residents so I can keep on top of their records.”

 _‘I bet you do, you likeness-stealing bastard.’_ said the goblin.

“Well, I say new, there have only been three people move here in the last… five years, including you.” he continued with a friendly chuckle. Were he not well over six feet tall, Agricola would have throttled him.

“Perhaps. I’m quite busy trying to get the farm going right now.” she replied curtly. Before he could say another word, Agricola threw the rest of her cocktail down her throat and paid Gus. “Lovely talking to you Dr Mayhew, but I really must be going now. Good evening.”

“Please, call me Harvey!” He called after her as she hurried from the bar, praying he hadn’t heard the quiver in her voice or seen the tears in her eyes.

As she walked back to the farm through the rain, stomach still empty, she couldn’t help but feel guilty. Yoba, she couldn’t believe how rude she’d been. He couldn’t exactly help looking like Michael, she’d have to apologise. Agricola tugged her sodden cardigan around her tighter as she trudged through the mud back to the scruffy farm, cursing her poor choice of shoes.


	3. Chapter II: The Good Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agricola chooses peace and makes a fwiend

Out of pure embarrassment, Agricola pointedly avoided the doctor for the rest of the week while she acquainted herself with the other townspeople. After a sleepless first night progress was slow, but eventually Agricola managed to clear enough land to plant her first crop. The mayor had been kind enough to give her some parsnip seeds to get her started, and to her shock they had fully grown within four days. Robin had been right about the soil.

She arranged her humble first harvest into a trug and tucked it into the crook of her elbow, setting off for town again. According to Jodi, one of the gossiping women from the square with whom she had more in common than she at first thought, she only had three more residents left to meet: Penny, the local schoolteacher, Elliott, the local hermit, and Shane, the local drunk. After her slippery first day, she’d invested in some slightly more reliable workboots, though her tiring days of clearing the rocks and trees from her land meant the long flowery frocks she’d pictured herself wearing while farming had to be exchanged for a battered old dungaree dress she’d bought just in case from a secondhand shop (for now at least - Agricola would achieve her vision of pastoral bliss if it killed her).

“Morning!” she chirped as she entered the shop.

“You’re chipper today,” remarked Pierre, putting his newspaper down on the countertop. “You were lamenting to me not two days ago how much you regretted the move.”

“Things change, Pierre, things change.” Agricola strode to the counter. “It is a very good day for the world of capitalism, my friend, behold Arcadia Farm’s first yield in over sixteen years.” She proudly set the trug down on the counter for Pierre to inspect. 

“Not bad… not bad at all. I can offer you 549g for all of them.”

“Deal.” Agricola took out her purse and pocketed half of her earnings, exchanging the rest for some more seed packets.

She left the shop with a wave and made a sharp turn away from the clinic. Her actress’ ego still ached under the weight of her shame. And still she wavered, not quite outside the clinic yet, but no longer outside Pierre’s. She suddenly felt as if she were about to go onstage without having learnt her lines. How hard was it to just apologise? It was such a simple concept, yet Agricola felt as if she let the word ‘sorry’ pass her lips, she might actually die. She sighed and swallowed her pride simultaneously and pushed open the door to the clinic.

Dr Mayhew stood by the front desk sorting through a box. “Ah Agricola! I was just about to write you a letter.” His face shone with easy charm, and Agricola cursed him for it. 

“A letter?”

“I told you in the Stardrop that I’d like to update your records? I was going to write to you asking you to come in for a checkup.”

“Oh… I see.” Agricola bit back the apology that had risen to the tip of her tongue.

Harvey seemed to mistake her pensiveness for apprehension. “Now, now… there’s no need to be nervous. It’ll be quick and painless.”

“Is that what you say to every girl who comes in here?” The quip tumbled clumsily from her lips before she even realised the words had formed, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, feeling her face start to burn. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

Dr Mayhew coughed, hand twitching dismissively. “Really, don’t worry about it. Please follow me”

He led her out of the waiting room into his office and plucked a folder from a desk tidy. He flicked through it for a moment. “I just need to ask some questions about your general health… It’s been a while since these records were updated.”

Agricola nodded sheepishly. “I’ve never been good about going to the doctor. I don’t get ill very often, to be honest.”

Dr Mayhew sat down, and gestured for Agricola to do the same. “Do you smoke?”

“Socially. University habit.”

“Are you sexually active?”

“Until recently.”

“How recently?”

“Three-ish months.”

“Are you on any regular medication? Birth control, supplements, antidepressants?”

“No.”

“Any family history of serious illness?”

“Type-one diabetic uncle on my father’s side, most of us have low blood pressure and insomnia on my mother’s.”

“When was the last time you visited a gynaecologist?”

Agricola cringed. “Last autumn.” 

She continued to answer monotonously until Dr Mayhew eventually got to the bottom of his list. “Hmm… Okay, hold still please.” He filed the sheet away and brought his fingertips to the sides of Agricola’s neck, pressing her glands slightly. His hands were cool, but not unpleasantly so, and rather shapely, the kind that Agricola had once associated with painters and musicians. She couldn’t help but notice that his ring finger was bare.

_‘Don’t even think about it.’_ the goblin snapped.

Agricola swallowed hard when Harvey withdrew his hands. He took a small torch from his breast pocket.

“Say ‘ahhh…’”

She dropped her lower jaw, letting her tongue hang over her lip as the doctor examined inside.

“Okay, you can stop. I just need to check your vitals.” He removed the stethoscope draped around his neck. "Um… I think you'll need to lower the bib of your dress."

Agricola's eyebrows twitched but she unbuckled her straps nonetheless. The doctor pressed the metal disc to her chest and paused. 

"Hmm… Your pulse is high" he observed. 

She started to fiddle again. "I’m a little nervous." 

"Oh! Hospitals make you nervous, hm?" 

"Something like that." 

_'Fuck you, Poirot. It'll take more than that to weasel anything out of her.'_ said the goblin. 

"Just try and relax, I’m here to help." he gave her a reassuring smile and hung the stethoscope back around his neck. "Well then! You seem very healthy, Agricola. Just make sure not to overwork yourself on that farm!" 

Agricola did up her straps again. "I'll do my best." Just as he was about to usher her back into the waiting room, she opened her mouth again. "Dr Mayhew…"

Dr Mayhew cut her off with a hand movement. "Harvey, please." 

Agricola nodded. "I just wanted to… I wanted to apologise for my behaviour in the Stardrop earlier this week. You reminded me of someone close to me I was trying not to think about." 

Harvey's expression softened. "Your late husband?" 

Agricola's hand itched to fiddle with the ring, almost as if she wanted to hide it, though from whom she wasn’t sure. "Fiancé. But yes, you look… really quite like him, you honestly could be brothers. And I was rude. So… I'm sorry."

A sympathetic smile flickered over his lips. "It's quite alright. Grief breeds irrationality. No, that's not what I meant to say…" He pushed his glasses up. "What I'm trying to say is there's no apology needed. Are you seeing anyone at the moment?" 

Agricola frowned. "I'm sorry?" 

"Counselling, therapy. I can't even begin to imagine how traumatic an experience that must have been." 

"Oh…" Agricola shifted her weight from foot to foot. "No, I'm not. It didn't really occur to me." 

"Well, I can get you in contact with an excellent grief counsellor in Zuzu City." He sat down at his desk and pulled out a pad and pen. 

"I'm not sure how practical a 5 hour round trip every week is if I'm trying to run a farm, if I'm honest Harvey." The word tasted strange in her mouth. It somehow felt wrong to be addressing her doctor by his first name.

"No… of course. If that's the case, I could offer you something. It'd be technically unofficial, I don't really have the right qualifications, but I'd hate to think you were suffering in silence when there's some way I can help." 

Agricola opened and closed her mouth, not quite sure how to respond. "That's… that's very kind of you. I think that might be good for me actually." The second the words left her mouth, the goblin went bezerk, shrieking at her. 

He smiled warmly at her, leaning back in his chair. “Why don’t we say… every Wednesday at around 2 o’clock? Since Pierre’s is closed anyway.” 

“I don’t see why not.”

A look came over his face, but Agricola couldn’t quite decipher it. He stood up and ushered her out of the office.

“Thanks for stopping in.” He said, and she walked out the door feeling conflicted.

She half-wanted to go back to the farm and just carry on, but a strange fog had descended around her brain. Instead, she decided to finally take Gus’ advice and explore the town library. 

She greeted a few of her new neighbours with reserved politeness, until her eye was caught by an unfamiliar person’s back sitting on a bench. Now who was this: Penny the teacher, Elliott the shut-in, or Shane the pisshead? Agricola found the first of those the most likely, given the figure’s prim demeanor and tidy clothes. She walked around the front of the bench and froze, feeling her chest tighten. The woman on the bench - presumably Penny - was a far cry from the matronly image that Jodi’s description of her job suggested. She was slight and sensibly-dressed, and her bright red hair was curled neatly at her delicate jaw. She looked up from her book and her dainty lips curved into a smile. Agricola could have sworn her heart tripled in size.

“Hi…” She looked Agricola up and down, and she shrunk under her gaze for her scruffy clothes. “Oh! Did you want something?”

Agricola twisted her hands around the handle of the trug. “H-hello…” she stammered, trying to smile. “I’m Agricola, the farmer, the new farmer.”

The woman closed her book in her lap. “I'm Penny, I tutor Jas and Vincent since there’s no schoolbuilding here.” An awkward silence fell.

“I was just going to the library.” Agricola said, eying Penny’s book.

“Oh, that’s nice. I spend a lot of time there when the weather’s not so lovely.”

Agricola smiled, her fingers fussing at the stiff hem of her skirt. “Maybe I’ll see you there sometime. Nice to meet you.”

_‘You utter piss-kidney.’_ said the goblin as she scuttled away to hide in a farm management guide she plucked from a dusty shelf in the library. By the time the eccentrically-dressed librarian kicked her out it was getting dark. The lights in the Saloon glowed invitingly, but Agricola still wanted to plant her new seeds before she went to bed. She took the south road out of town, past Marnie’s Ranch where the cows were still lowing in the paddock. 

But before she turned the path back up into the farm, she saw a dim light glowing on the pier stretching into the lake in the middle of the pasture. A shadowy figure sat at the edge, legs dangling above the water. Agricola tentatively approached. They looked towards her for a moment before their interest in her seemed to eclipse and they grunted. 

“Um… hello.” said Agricola, stepping a little closer.

The figure raised a can to their lips. “I don’t know you.” They took a sip.

“I’m the new farmer. My name’s Agricola. I just moved here.”

The figure seemed to examine her. “Why are you talking to me?”

Agricola twisted her lips and ground her foot into the earth. “You’re one of the last people I haven't met… What’s your name?”

“Shane, and I’m busy. Can’t you tell?”

Agricola shifted her weight stiffly. “Oh… okay. Sorry to have bothered you.” She turned, feeling scorned, and began to continue back towards the farm.

Shane gave a loud sigh. “I guess I'm just surprised that anyone would be interested in talking to me.” Agricola stopped. “Want a beer?” He held a can out to her, not looking at her.

Agricola didn’t really like beer. Would it be rude? She took the can and lowered herself to the rough wood of the jetty.

“You’re up late, huh?” Shane remarked.

Agricola slid her nail under the ring pull and the can opened with a hiss. “I suppose. Spent all afternoon reading about how to run a farm and I’m still none the wiser.”

Shane gave a mirthless chuckle. “Buh… life.”

“Hmm.” Agricola agreed. There was silence for a moment, nothing but the quiet lapping of the water against the wooden poles of the dock.

“You ever feel like no matter what you do, you’re gonna fail?” Shane asked. Agricola turned her head to look at him. He looked… tired. His face was unshaven, the bags under his hooded eyes were deep, his mouth was unsmiling. His clothes were what her grandmother would have politely described as ‘function over form’ - a faded green gridball jersey under a Joja branded sweatshirt, cargo shorts and battered plimsolls. “Like you’re stuck in some miserable abyss and you’re so deep you can’t even see the light of day?”

Agricola said nothing, knowing her silence would speak for her.

“I just feel like no matter how hard I try… I’m not strong enough to climb out of that hole.”

“I know what you mean.” replied Agricola, steeling herself and downing the contents of the can as quickly as possible.

Shane looked her over and chortled. “Fast drinker huh? Woman after my own heart.”

Agricola looked back at him with an incredulous smile. “I’m not much of a beer drinker to be perfectly honest.”

Shane leant back on his hand. “I guess it’s an acquired taste. Just don't make a habit of it. You’ve still got a future ahead of you.” he advised with an air of wistfulness. 

Agricola looked down into the water and her hand instinctively rose to fiddle with her ring. Their reflections rippled before her, the dull lamplight dancing on the lake. “I wouldn’t speak so soon.” She set the empty can beside her, unable to keep Michael from her thoughts. Perhaps in another life they could have come here together?

Shane flicked his eyes from the water to Agricola’s ring. “Widow, eh?” Agricola made a face. Maybe the necklace hadn't been as subtle a gesture of devotion as she had intended. 

“Not exactly. My fiancé died about three months ago. We were supposed to be getting married at the end of spring.”

“Shit.” said Shane.

Agricola murmured in agreement. “Still… life goes on I suppose, whether you want it to or not. Nice for some.”

“I’ll drink to that.” He took another can from the box, hesitated, then put it back. “Actually… my liver’s begging me to stop. Better call it a night.” He stood up with a grunt, swaying slightly, then offered a hand to Agricola. She took it, and stood up herself. “See you around Agricola.” He tucked the box of beer under his arm and disappeared into the gathering gloom. Agricola, not quite sure where she was in relation to the farm, picked up the little oil lamp at her feet and stumbled through the grass until she found the path again.


	4. Chapter III: The Underworld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agricola gets a cat and looks at some rocks in the first of not one but two consecutive filler chapters

Next morning, when she rose, Agricola spotted Marnie from her bedroom window picking her way through what remained of the rubble still plaguing the south of the farm. She slipped her dressing gown on, and opened the door to greet her. Marnie was already dressed and bright-eyed, and Agricola saw there was a little grey cat nestled in her strong arms. 

“Hello Agricola!” said Marnie when she opened the door.

“Morning Marnie.” replied Agricola, yawning and scratching her head. “You alright?”

“You see this cat here?” she said, holding her arms out. “I found it sitting outside the entrance to your farm.”

“Oh.” Agricola rubbed its head and it butted up into her hand. “Do you know who it belongs to?”

“I think it’s a stray… poor little thing. I think it likes this place.” They stood in silence on the porch for a moment. The cat began to purr softly as Agricola stroked it. “Hey, um…” Marnie began. “Don’t you think this farm could use a good cat?"

Agricola looked up at Marnie, unable to keep the grin from spreading across her face. “I love cats… Last time I had one was when I was little.” She took the cat from Marnie and cradled it in her arms like a baby. It blinked at her with big green eyes. “If you’re sure it doesn’t belong to anyone, I’d love to take it.”

“Great! What do you want to call it?”

Agricola narrowed her eyes at the cat for a moment. “Roger.” she decided. “He’s an old friend from Grampleton.”

Marnie looked at her strangely, then smiled and shook her head. “Well little Roger… you be a good kitty now… okay?” She gave the cat one last pat. “Shane tells me you ran into him the other night?”

“Uh, yes. He was by the lake.”

“That’s nice. He could really do with someone to talk to who’s not twice his age. Could you do me a favour?”

Agricola nodded.

“If you see him around again, don’t let him shake you off. He can seem like a nasty piece of work when you first meet him, but he’ll come round to you sooner or later.” Marnie looked slightly embarrassed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He could use a friend.”

Agricola chewed her lip in discomfort, remembering their bleak exchange last night. “Of course.”

“Thank you, my lovely. I’d better get back. See you later!”

She turned and marched away, leaving Agricola, still slightly bewildered from sleep, standing with Roger the cat purring contentedly in her arms.

She went inside and constructed him a makeshift bed from a couple of old pillows, then washed and dressed for the day. She checked the postbox before she set to work. Just a small handful of letters, mostly from her friends in response to ones she’d sent earlier in the week. As she read through Roger’s updates on the company (she’d been right, they were doing _Lysistrata_ \- Agricola fought to suppress a pang of sadness and jealousy), she made a mental note to mention Roger the cat to him. The final letter caught her attention:

_To our valued JojaMart customers:  
Our team members have removed the landslide caused by our drilling operations by the mountain lake. I’d like to remind you that our drilling operation is entirely legal (pursuant to init. L61091, JojaCo Amendment). Responsible stewardship of our local environment is our top priority!_

_We apologise for any inconvenience this accident may have caused. As always, we value your continued support and patronage!_  
_Morris_  
_Joja Customer Satisfaction Representative._

Agricola had come across Morris before. He was a funny little man who wore bow ties and ill-advisedly small glasses, yet in many ways Agricola couldn’t help but be entertained by his enthusiasm towards his employers. At least he was honest about being a shameless profiteer, unlike Pierre, which Agricola could respect in an ironic sort of way. She remembered Robin bemoaning the noise from the mining crew removing the landslide, though she’d never actually gone to see it for herself. Maybe she could take a stroll into the mountain this afternoon.

Picking up the weathered handle of her handaxe, she drew a long breath and set about clearing the remainder of her land. Without all the trees and boulders in the way, Agricola could better appreciate just how much space she had. She’d spent her evenings at the kitchen table with a paper map of the farm spread out marking where she wanted things built - a mill and a stable next to the farmhouse, two barns and a hay silo in the lower left field, a coop next to one of the ponds… that left her the rest of the land to be divided up into fields for her crops. Agricola smiled in satisfaction. It was starting to take shape. 

As she chopped and hacked her way through the creeping undergrowth, she suddenly found herself in a small clearing. Barely larger than a pantry, but it was big enough to house what appeared to be a large tombstone, mottled and rough from years of exposure. Resting upon it was a small note.

_Aggie,_  
_Wait for my return on the dawn of your third year._  
_Grandpa_

Agricola frowned. Had it begun with her full name, she would have just rolled her eyes and ignored it, dismissing it as a tasteless joke. But nobody here even knew her nickname. She scrutinised it closer. The handwriting certainly seemed to match the letter he’d given her… but Grandpa had been dead for more than a decade and a half, and the note was spotless. What was going on here?

Unsettled, Agricola folded the note and stuffed it into her front pocket, picking up her handaxe again and returning to her chopping, until several hours and a stiff neck later, she was finally happy that she’d cleared enough to start ordering some buildings.

The north road into the mountains was always a pleasant walk. It reminded her of the parks and fields she used to play in as a child, lined with trees and wildflowers. Every now and then on her way back from the carpenter’s, Agricola would pluck herself a little bouquet to put in the middle of the kitchen table in a drinking glass. 

“Afternoon, Agricola.” greeted Robin cheerfully.

“Hullo, Robin.” Agricola suddenly had a thought. “Actually, you might be able to help me with something.” She pulled the note from her pocket and spread it on the counter.

Robin picked it up, mouthing the words. “What’s this then?”

“I was kind of hoping you’d be able to tell me. My grandpa died when I was six, and nobody here calls me Aggie, not yet at least, so to say I’m confused would be putting it lightly.”

Robin made a face, reading the note again. “Sorry love, I can’t help you. Bit spooky though.” She gave it back to Agricola.

“You’re telling me.”

“You didn’t come all this way just to ask me about that did you?”

“No, I didn’t.” Agricola leant over the counter, batting her eyelids comically. “I think I’m ready to take our relationship to the next level.”

“Oh yes?” Robin leant in too, joining in the game with a low, sultry voice.

“I want you…” Agricola walked her fingers across the counter towards Robin’s catalogue. “To build me a chicken coop.”

Robin threw her head back and clapped. “Finally! It was taking you so long to ask that I thought I was going to have to remind you what my job is.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I wanted to get as much of the land clear as possible before I had anything built, because I know you need the materials and stuff.”

“Fair enough. I’ll get started first thing tomorrow, just mark out where you want me to build it this evening.”

Agricola stood up straight again. “Will do. Thanks, Robin.”

As she left the cabin, her mind wandered back to the Joja notice that came this morning. She peered over a ridge, and saw a little wooden bridge stretching across the lake that she didn’t recognise. It creaked under her boots when she tested it, but seemed solid enough to get across. On the other side was a gaping hole in the rock face, supported by rotting wooden beams, weak lamplight glowing from within. 

She wasn’t quite sure why, but she glanced around her before she stepped into the cave, as if she might get in trouble if anyone saw her. To her great surprise, she was not alone. A man with shaggy white hair was crouched over a hole in the ground, his red cloak trailing behind him on the dusty floor. He looked up at Agricola as if he’d been expecting her. His face was handsome, if rather lived-in, and his left eye was concealed by an eyepatch.

“I was just peering down into this old mineshaft.”

His tone beckoned Agricola closer. “It’s been abandoned for decades. Still, there’s probably good ore down there.”

Agricola peered down herself. A rickety ladder descended into the depths. The man gave her a grave look. “But a dark place, undisturbed for so long… I’m afraid ore isn’t all you’ll find.” The shriek of a bat down in the pit sent a chill down Agricola’s spine. The man stood up. “It’s dangerous to go alone. Take this.” He pushed his cloak aside, revealing a scuffed leather scabbard from which he slowly drew a rusted sword and offered it to Agricola. She took it in bafflement. It was heavier than she’d expected, and rather unwieldy.

“Who said that I was going down there?” Agricola asked, examining the hilt of the sword.

The man simply shrugged. “It’s your choice. There are definite benefits to be reaped. Those benefits are countered by risks. What you do with that knowledge is up to you.” He began to leave, then paused in the mouth of the cave. “Name’s Marlon, by the way. I run the adventurer’s guild right outside. I’ll keep my eye on you. Prove yourself and I might think about making you a member.” Before Agricola could reply, he was gone.

Agricola was left to think in the gloom. The air hung thick and tasted of earth, and little moths hovered around the feeble oil lamps hanging from the walls. She approached the lift that stood at the far wall. It’s buttons were long rusted, and went in increments of five from zero all the way down to one-hundred-and-twenty. Agricola carefully traced a finger around one of the buttons, trying to remember the last time she had her tetanus jab renewed. She pressed the button for floor five. The metal groaned, like some great hulking beast awakening from hibernation, but nothing happened. She sighed, not quite sure what she’d expected to happen. She eyed the ladder uneasily, chewing on her bottom lip. Was she really considering this? The wrappings of the sword’s hilt felt rough and uncomfortable against the tender skin of her palm. In a moment of madness, she sprinted straight out of the cave and jogged all the way back to the farm, seizing the old pickaxe and a torch. Then she faltered upon her return, deliberating, unable to reconcile her desire for excitement with her immense cowardice. She dropped to her knees, peering down, then sighed. She knew just the person to ask about this.

The Saloon was quiet. It was still too early in the day for most of its patrons, yet the clack of snooker balls in the arcade told Agricola she was in the right place. 

“Alright Agricola?” said Abigail, sprawled out on the sofa while Sam and Sebastian played snooker. 

“Hey guys.” Agricola replied, swatting Abigail’s legs so she could sit down. She stretched her legs out again on Agricola’s lap. “You know that cave by Seb’s house?”

“What, the old mines?” asked Sebastian, pocketing a ball with ease, drawing a groan from Sam. 

“Yah, that’s the one.”

“What about it?” asked Abigail.

“Have you ever been down there?”

“Me? No.” Abigail stretched again. “I want to, though, I’ve been practicing my swordfighting.”

Agricola frowned. “Is that a euphemism, or…?”

“No? I’ve got a sword." Abigail peered over her phone screen and raised an eyebrow as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "I’ll show you sometime.”

A bemused smile spread across Agricola’s face. “Oh, right.”

“Yeah. Why’d you ask?” 

“I went down there this afternoon.”

“Oh yeah?” Sebastian said, pocketing yet another ball to Sam’s chagrin. “Have they finally cleared that landslide? My mum’s been whining about it for ages.”

“Yah, it’s clear. That’s why I went down. There was this man there, said his name was Marlon. He just gave me a sword for some reason, I guess he assumed I wanted to go down there.”

“He gave you a sword?” Abigail’s eyes widened and she sat up. “Do you want to practice together? We could go down into the mines!”

Agricola chewed her lip. “I don’t know, it looked kind of dodgy.”

“Nah, they’re fine.” Abigail waved a hand dismissively.

“You just said you’ve never been down there?”

“That’s about as irrelevant as your degree, and you still bring that up every five minutes.”

“Fair enough." Agricola conceded. "I guess just once couldn’t hurt, if we’re careful. Right?”

“Famous last words.” Sebastian muttered darkly. “Right, now I’ve won again, I’m off. You lot going to the Egg Festival tomorrow?”

“Why would we not be?” asked Sam, sulking a little.

“Uh, because it’s the dumbest shit ever conceived by anyone with an IQ above room temperature?”

“What’s the Egg Festival?” asked Agricola, feeling a bit stupid.

Sebastian gave her a look. “It’s just this… thing. Everything’s egg-themed, Shane goes completely nuts for it. There’s an egg hunt for the kids but Abby and Maru always get way over-competitive about it. I guarantee you there was a letter about it in your postbox that you subconsciously ignored, everyone does.”

“Sounds agonising. I’ll be there. See you.”


	5. Chapter IV: A Little Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agricola goes to the egg festival and is berated by Sebastian

Sebastian, Sam, Abigail, and Agricola stood in a huddle under a tree, their backs turned to the rest of the crowd. There had certainly been truth to what Sebastian said in the Saloon yesterday; the decoration in the square certainly seemed a little excessive to Agricola. She hadn’t seen this much pastel bunting since the Grampleton University Summer Ball. Two great dining tables had been set up at the top of the square, groaning under the weight of all the food Gus had prepared the night before. Pierre stood drumming his fingers behind a stall near the clinic.

“We used to do a rotten egg toss…” Sebastian started wistfully. “Mayor Lewis put an end to that pretty quick.”

“Dickhead.” Abigail muttered, crossing her arms. “Still, searching for eggs is like going on a treasure hunt!”

“And next month, Abigail will be six.” remarked Agricola. Sebastian sniggered and shook an open box of cigarettes in front of her, and she plucked one from it. They heard a deliberate cough from a few metres away, and Agricola and Sebastian turned around to see Harvey’s stern face watching them reproachfully. They stared him dead in the eye while Agricola jammed the end of the cigarette between her lips and Sebastian held a lighter up to it.

“What exactly is his problem?” Agricola hissed to Sebastian in a cloud of smoke as he lit his own cigarette.

“Well, either he’s madly in love with one of us, or he’s concerned about me distributing these.” Sebastian waved his cigarette in front of her face. 

Agricola flicked her eyebrows up and smirked. “I’ll fight you for him.”

“I can’t believe you’d even think about coming between me and the man I love, who just so happens to be Chief of the Fun-Police.”

The four of them snickered cruelly, and Harvey finally averted his eyes, twisting his lips uncomfortably. Agricola looked around the rest of the square, and her eyes settled on the last person she didn’t recognise. He was tall, with a long, elegant curtain of red hair. He was dressed smartly, perhaps a little overdressed for what was, by Agricola’s understanding, a glorified egg hunt, in a tailored red blazer and green jacquard trousers. He was speaking to Leah, but seemed to notice Agricola looking at him and gave her a beguiling smile. Agricola rolled her lips as she felt her cheeks flush.

“Who’s that?” she asked keenly.

Abigail rose to her tiptoes and peered in the same direction. “Him? That’s Elliott, lives by the beach.”

Sam lifted his head sharply at the mention of the name. “Yeah, you want to be careful around that one. He lurks by the Saloon in the evenings, he’ll hump just about anything that moves but I’m not convinced he’s even that fussy.”

Abigail nudged him in the ribs. “You’re only saying that because he tried it on with your mum.”

Sam shoved her. “Shut the fuck up, he did not.”

“I’ll try not to drop my knickers too quickly. How long until the egg hunt starts? I’m kind of hungry.” said Agricola, sucking on the end of her cigarette.

“You’ve got about five minutes, get me a couple of fried eggs if you’re going to the buffet.” said Abigail.

“Yah, sure.” Agricola crushed her cigarette beneath her shoe, then picked up two paper plates and surveyed the buffet. Unsurprisingly, it was entirely (if somewhat tenuously in places) egg-themed. She plucked two toasted bagels from a rack and dolloped some scrambled egg on each. Harvey approached her, brows knitted.

“Hullo.” She said casually.

“Hello Agricola.” Harvey replied. They blinked at each other for a moment. “Eggs definitely have a place in the well-balanced diet.”

Agricola raised her eyebrows expectantly. “That’s good to know.”

He recoiled at her tone, looking uneasy. “Ugh… I should take off my doctor’s hat for the time being, I suppose.” He pushed up his glasses and sniffed.

Agricola shrugged. “Do what you like, it’s a free town. Or has Lewis finally formed the Third Triumvirate with Robin and Pierre?”

“No, not last time I checked.” Harvey chuckled. “Look, I know it's not for a few days, but did you think of anything that you wanted to discuss in our session on Wednesday?”

Agricola hesitated, wetting her lips. “Not particularly.” They were silent again.

“What was his name?” Harvey asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Agricola’s sardonic smirk faded. She suddenly found herself unable to meet his gaze, so familiar, yet so alien. It was still very strange to her that behind those gentle, kind eyes that she wanted to believe she knew so well, there were no memories of creeping into the dark college library in their formal clothes to gaze through the glass roof at the stars, strolling through the Botanical Gardens after gorging themselves on expensive lunches with money they were given for textbooks, murmuring sleepily with each other on the couch while drinking too much wine.

“Michael.” she eventually said quietly. “Michael Sinclair.”

She drew a ragged breath and slowly drifted back to her friends, handing Abigail her plate.

“What did he want?” asked Sam, his throat sounding scratchy and raw.

“Nothing much. He’s just trying to therapise me.” She could feel the familiar sting of tears behind her eyes. Her hand found its way to her collarbone to fiddle with her ring.

“Do we think everyone’s ready for the egg hunt?” called Mayor Lewis from the centre of the square. A panicked look came over Abigail’s face as she hurried to finish her plate. Jas and Vincent shouted in excitement.

The contestants (Maru, Abigail, Sam, Jas, and Vincent) lined up in front of Lewis.

“It’s time for the highlight of today’s festivities… The Annual Spring Egg Hunt!” the mayor announced, drawing scattered applause from the crowd. Sebastian lit another cigarette. Jas and Vincent began to jump around the square (Rabbits? Were they imitating rabbits?). “Calm down now kiddos,” Lewis continued, “You’re going to need all your energy if you hope to find the most eggs and take home the exclusive prize. Now… is everyone ready?” Jas and Vincent gave a shrill cheer. “Let the egg hunt begin!”. The participants scattered, pushing past Agricola and Sebastian. Shane had begun to drift towards them, and Agricola smiled at him.

“Hey.” she said.

He grunted in response, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

“Pff, this is bullshit.” Sebastian complained. “Let’s bounce.”

“Huh? It’s less than a minute.” said Agricola. Shane simply shrugged, indifferent as usual.

“Have you got a car?” Sebastian persisted.

Agricola swallowed her last mouthful of bagel. “There’s a sort of pickup truck thing at the farm that apparently works.”

“Cool. Let’s bounce.” he repeated, tapping Shane and Agricola on the shoulder. Then he paused. “You can drive, right?”

Agricola smacked her lips. “I have not _technically_ been given the pleasure of official licensi-”

“Yes or no.” Shane cut her off with a surprisingly authoritative gesture. “Can you drive?”

“...No.”

“ _Right_ ,” said Sebastian, exasperatedly. “We’re giving you a driving lesson. Come on.”

With a final look over her shoulder at Lewis announcing the winner of the egg hunt (she found out that evening that Abigail had emerged victorious for the seventh year in a row), Agricola followed Shane and Sebastian out of Pelican Town and back to the farm.

She led them around the back of the farmhouse, where her grandfather’s ancient pickup truck had been parked. “Lewis told me he took it for a drive before I got here and it works fine.” she assured them as Sebastian climbed into the cab, Shane into the cargo bed. 

“Turn on the ignition.” Sebastian instructed.

Agricola started the truck, and it shook to life with a throaty hum. 

“Okay, now go.”

Agricola looked down at the dusty pedals beneath her feet. “Which one is go?”

Sebastian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose while Shane guffawed in the back. “The right one.”

“Right, okay.” She dropped her foot onto the pedal and the truck lurched forward. She heard Shane yelp and thud against the back of the cab, swearing at her through the open window. 

Sebastian sighed heavily and leant forward against the dashboard. “Go again, but slowly.”

Agricola gripped the wheel and lowered her foot to the pedal again. The truck groaned and inched forward.

“Faster than that!” cried Sebastian in frustration.

“What does this do?” She pointed to the gearstick and gradually pressed down more on the pedal.

“No, you don’t touch them. _I’ll_ do the gears.” Sebastian smacked her hand away like she was a misbehaving child. “Not that you’ll need them at this rate, why are you still going so slowly? I could crawl faster than this. Any slower and you'd be going bloody backwards.”

“Have you finished?” said Agricola. She eased her foot further onto the pedal and steered the truck out of the open farm gate. “See? I know what I’m doing, dipshit.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and leant back in the battered seat. “Whatever. Somehow I don’t see you driving into the city anytime soon.”

Agricola laughed sarcastically while Sebastian checked his phone. “Ugh, stop. I’ve got two missed calls from my mum, I’ve got to run.” He hopped out of the cab, and Shane jumped in behind him. “See you tomorrow or something.”

“Yah, see you.” 

Sebastian set off down the path with a half-hearted wave, and an awkward silence descended over the cab. Agricola began to fidget. 

“You enjoy your first Egg Festival?” asked Shane.

“Um, yes. What I was around long enough to see, I suppose.”

Shane finally allowed a slight smile to ghost over his lips. “Our hens worked overtime to prepare. They deserve the best tonight…”

“Yah, the eggs were nice.” She looked over at Shane, who was gazing with a dreamy look out of the window. Their eyes met again, and they smiled.

“Saloon?”

“Absolutely.”


	6. Chapter V: Bright Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agricola goes to therapy then gets railed by the village hermit (no explicit material)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible implied dubcon in this chapter? Definitely not my intention, but just to be on the safest of sides

Even when he wasn’t there to breathe down her neck every time Sebastian offered her a cigarette, Harvey was irritating Agricola. She’d had to work twice as hard this morning to make sure she finished her daily chores just to ensure she was even remotely close to getting to her appointment on time, and now it had gone one o’clock and she was still toiling away in the fields with the hot sun beating down on the back of her head like his disapproving stare. She dropped her hoe on the porch with a huff, and, as she peeled one of Michael's old t-shirts from her back, tried to collect her thoughts on what she was going to tell him.

She felt distinctly sluggish as she changed her clothes and dragged a comb through her hair. Her reflection stared sullenly at her. _‘I told you so.’_ said the goblin.

She hadn’t meant to, but she slammed the door on her way back out. She glared up at the clear sky, cursing the sun for being far too hot for the time of year as she stomped down the dirt path to the centre of town. She forced herself to smile amiably at Jodi and Caroline, gossiping near the flower-bed as usual. Agricola itched to join them, but a glance down at her phone screen (she really needed to change the background) told her that it was out of the question. Hang on, what was she thinking? She wasn't crowned the queen of delaying tactics in Lower Sixth for nothing. She ducked into the Saloon and ordered two black coffees before she opened the door to the clinic, relishing in the blast of cool air from inside.

“Hello Agricola!” greeted Maru from behind the desk. Agricola jumped.

“Maru! I didn’t know you worked here?” Agricola examined her. She was wearing the most ridiculous little nurse’s outfit, the sort that looked more like a Halloween costume than something a medical professional would wear. The goblin sneered. _‘I told you he’s some kind of pervert. How old is she, twelve?”_

“Oh yeah, I have for about a year.” Maru replied casually. “Do you have an appointment?”

A brief but fierce debate played out in Agricola’s head. After a second, she sighed. “Yes, two o’clock.”

Maru checked a file. “Right, yes I see. Just take a seat, I’ll tell Harvey you’re here.” She disappeared out of a door behind her. 

Agricola scrunched up her nose and sat down. Back in Grampleton, a nurse would probably be fired for referring to a doctor by their first name. What happened to all that good old needless formality? Agricola missed the stuffiness, the repression, the not speaking one’s mind out of politeness. 

“Agricola?” Harvey stepped into the waiting room.

Agricola stood up jerkily, as if she’d just been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. “If you’d like to follow me.” he said calmly, leading her into his office.

“Do you want a coffee?” Agricola asked bluntly before he’d even sat down. 

_‘Weren’t expecting THAT, were you? Fuck you.’_ the goblin taunted.

Harvey beamed at her, revealing a mouth of big, white teeth. “It’s for me? This is my favourite stuff! It’s like you read my mind.” Agricola scowled to herself and put the cup on his desk, cradling her own as she sat down.

“So,” he began, pulling a notepad and pen in front of him. “Why don’t we begin by talking a bit about you?”

Agricola eyed him suspiciously. “About me?”

“Yes, start wherever you like.”

Agricola began to fidget and was silent for several moments. “Well… I was born on the seventeenth of spring, I’m an only child but I have two older cousins, Richard and Edmund. My grandfather died when I was six having divorced my grandmother twenty years before and left me the farm. I grew up and went to school in Aulham, it’s about half an hour away from Grampleton, I have a degree in theology, and I used to be a stage actress before I came here. What else is there?”

“I can’t help but notice you didn’t mention Michael.” Harvey scribbled something on his notepad. He’d positioned it in a way so Agricola could see it, but his mad scrawl that hardly qualified as handwriting rendered it totally illegible.

Agricola bit her lip and inspected her hands in her lap. “No, I suppose I didn’t. I don’t think I really want to talk about him yet.”

“That’s alright. We can take our time getting to that. Why don’t you tell me about your acting?” 

“I suppose so.” A fond smile flitted at the corner of her mouth and Agricola shifted in her seat. “I auditioned for the company the summer I graduated. We did a play every season, two comedies then two tragedies, alternating between classical and Shakespeare. It’s just a fact of life that all new members have to be stage crew for their first production, so I was on the costume team for _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , then I was a maenad in _Bacchae_ , the Clown in _Titus Andronicus_ , a cloud in _Clouds_ , and the Courtesan in _The Comedy of Errors_. Then it got a bit better, I was Ismene in _Oedipus at Colonus_ and Mercutio in _Romeo and Juliet_ , but my first really big role was as Xanthias in _Frogs_ , and I think that production was the most fun I’ve ever had in my life. Simon, the director, made sure we were all just a little bit pissed before we went on. The boat across the Styx was hanging from the ceiling and I got to be on a harness for when Charon pushed me out. Then I was Beatrice in _Much Ado About Nothing_ , Electra in _Electra_ , and my swansong was Cordelia in _King Lear_.” Agricola gave a wistful sigh, and Harvey smiled encouragingly. “I have a scrapbook at home, posters and costume shots and all that. Apparently they’re doing _Lysistrata_ at the moment… There aren’t a lot of days where I don’t wish I was still there.”

Harvey leant back in his seat, twirling his pen between his fingers. “And why’s that? Friends?”

A pensive look settled into Agricola’s features. “I suppose that’s part of it… I still speak to most of them though. I think it's more that… when I’m onstage, I don’t have to worry about being myself.”

Harvey sat forward again, pen poised above his notebook. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well… when you’re performing in a play, everything’s a known quantity, isn’t it? You know how it ends, who says what to whom… who lives and who dies. It's comforting in a weird sort of way. You can ignore all of your problems and just become a completely different person, whose own problems already have a predetermined resolution, if only for a moment. In fact, they aren't even _your_ problems to solve per se, you just have to go through the motions and let the playwright sort it out for you. The last time I can remember being properly happy was that final bow at the end of King Lear.” Agricola fiercely blinked back a tear threatening to spill over as a confusing jumble of pride and homesickness swelled in her heart. There was no way in hell she was going to cry in front of him, not in their very first session.

“I see…” He scribbled something else. “How often do you speak to your friends back in Grampleton?”

“I call my parents every day. I’ve never lived by myself before - not properly anyway, university halls don’t count. Michael and I moved in together straight after graduation… I’m fine with housework and everything, but it’s the _silence_. I find myself keeping the TV on most of the time just for some background noise. Roger and Bill I speak to every week or so, and I speak to the others when I speak to them. “

“Hmm…” More scribbling. “Would you say you’ve faced any particular challenges since Michael passed away?”

Agricola’s top lip twitched. “I can’t stand euphemisms. Passed away, left us, all that rubbish. It makes it sound like he was wasting away in a hospital bed for months and months, but it wasn’t like that at all, it was so much more sudden than that. He was there one morning and the next he wasn't, as if he'd run away or something.”

“Apologies, let me rephrase that. Have you found yourself struggling with anything in particular since Michael died?”

“Gosh… more than I can even begin to put into words.” Agricola gave a dry chuckle and sipped her coffee. “I suppose the worst thing is the loneliness, but I’ve already talked about that.”

Harvey frowned. “No you haven’t.” He bit his tongue. “Sorry, you were saying.”

“Haven’t I?” Agricola waved a hand. “ Well, I don’t really want to. It’s too depressing to think about.”

Harvey pursed his lips and wrote another line of incomprehensible scrawl. The more questions he asked, the more Agricola felt inclined to dance around the true answer. By the time the session ended, Agricola was certain that she’d shifted into every possible seating position at least five times and still managed to remain distinctly uncomfortable. Despite this, Harvey seemed optimistic. “We’ve done well today, Agricola.” A doubtful smile tugged at Agricola’s lips. “Now don’t look at me like that, I mean it. I’m glad you even came today. I’m proud of you.”

Agricola allowed her stomach the privilege of a brief flutter at his praise before the goblin squawked at her again. “Thanks. Same time next week, I suppose?”

“Absolutely.” Harvey stood up and patted her on the shoulder encouragingly.

And yet with every step out of the clinic she took, Agricola’s legs seemed to tremble more. Perhaps several drinks would remedy that, a reward for her progress. She treated herself to a late lunch at the Saloon, and by the time she’d finished spearing the last bits of mushroom and pasta on her fork, the regular patrons had begun to drift through the doors. She and Pam exchanged friendly, wordless smiles before she took up her usual seat at the end of the bar, where it was assumed that she would not wish to be disturbed by anyone not bearing drinks for the rest of the evening. Agricola ordered another pink gin and returned to her book.

“Ah, the new farmer we've all been expecting... and whose arrival has sparked many a conversation!” a sultry voice purred in her ear. An elegant hand had appeared in the corner of her vision, balancing a finely-dressed arm on the bar next to her. She glanced up, and found herself looking up at the man who she spotted across the square at the Egg Festival. His features were delicate and arranged pleasingly around a noble, aquiline nose. “I'm Elliott... I live in the little cabin by the beach. It's a pleasure to meet you.” He gently took her hand by the fingers and raised it to his lips. Agricola’s eyes widened and she bit the inside of her cheek.

“I’m Agricola. I’m the farmer, as you clearly already know.”

Elliott sat down, not taking his seductive sea-green eyes off her. “Agricola…” he murmured thoughtfully. “What a captivating name. One that evokes poise, charm, the luxuriance of nature. You’re… radiant, if I may say so.”

Agricola giggled, crossing her legs and closing her book. “Isn’t that what you say when someone's pregnant?”

Elliott leant closer, his eyes subtly flicking from her eyes to her parted lips. “Wit, as well. My, my… you’re quite the find. How perfectly genius of Lewis to have discovered you.” He peered over at her closed book on the bar, a well-thumbed copy of _The Sword of Honour Trilogy_. "An excellent choice, I simply adore Waugh's work."

Agricola could smell his cologne, deep and musky. “I made the mistake of reading _Brideshead Revisited_ first and now I can hardly look at it without wanting to cry. These ones are a little less emotionally taxing, though, which is nice." She patted the book and shifted in her seat. "I have to say, I find it odd that it’s taken me this long to meet you, given how small the village is.”

“I spend most of my time holed up in my cabin.” He’d leant so close that the tip of his tie had begun to brush against Agricola’s thigh. “I was just stopping in to relax after an eight hour writing session.”

“Oh, you’re a writer?” Agricola cocked an eyebrow and swivelled on the barstool to properly face him. “What are you working on at the moment? Or is it a secret?”

“Not at all. It’s a mystery thriller set in a dystopian future. Inspiration has been scarce these past few weeks but now…” Elliott rested his jaw on his hand. “I think the writer’s block may soon be cleared.” Suddenly he leant back and snapped his fingers. “Bartender! Fetch me your finest ale. And bring some wine for the lady!”

Gus bristled and gave him a warning glare before he placed the glasses in front of them, whisking away Agricola’s plate. “There you go, _sir_.” Agricola’s mouth fell open in faint amusement at his brashness, and she made a noise somewhere in between a cough and a laugh. She shook her head and brought the glass to her lips.

Elliott rose a hand sharply. “Wait! I propose a toast.” He lifted his own glass.

Agricola smirked. “To our friendship.” She said. 

Elliott returned her sly look. “Excellent idea.” They tapped their glasses together with a light _clink_. “Here’s to us.”

He swallowed a mouthful of ale and inhaled sharply. “Strong stuff…” Agricola bit down a giggle. “So tell me,” He leant in again, and Agricola shivered at the tickle of his tie against her bare leg. “What faraway idyll can raise such a delightful young lady as yourself?”

“If that translates in modern English to ‘Where are you from?’, the answer is Grampleton.”

Elliott sighed dreamily. “Enchanting town. I did my degree there.”

“That’s funny,” Agricola took a sip of her wine. “So did I. Theology, Abbott College, 2015 to 2018.”

“Literature, Clarence College, 2011 to 2014. We just missed each other, that is a shame. How cruel of Yoba to deprive me of so many years of your presence.”

Agricola giggled again. “I mourn our lost time.”

A ruminative look came over Elliott’s face. He gently lifted her chin with his fingertips so their eyes met again. _“‘Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art -  
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night  
And watching, with eternal lids apart,  
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,  
The moving waters at their priestlike task  
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,  
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask  
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors -  
No - yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,  
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,  
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,  
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,  
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,  
And so live ever - or else swoon to death’”_

Each line he spoke he inched his face closer and closer to Agricola’s, so close that she could smell the sweet ale on his breath. “Keats? How unoriginal. A Catullus, and I might have been impressed, but Keats is so obvious.”

“Ah,” Elliott sighed in defeat. “I forget you’re a scholar. I confess, I’m less familiar with classical poetry than I am the Romantics.”

Agricola snorted. _“‘Pedicabo ego vos, et irrumabo.'”_ she muttered.

“What was that?”

Agricola fluttered her eyelashes innocently at him. _“‘Da mi basia mille, deinde centum, dein mille altera, dein secunda centum, deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum.’”_

“You have a wonderful voice, you know, very emotive.” Elliott said as he ordered them another round. “Have you done much public speaking?”

She swallowed the remainders of her first glass as a second was placed in front of her. “I was a stage actress for two and a half years.”

“Theologian, actress, and now farmer? My dear, you truly are a Renaissance woman.” He sounded as though he were starting to feel his drinks. 

It was Agricola’s turn to shuffle closer. “You’re giving me more credit than I suspect I’m due. When it comes to acting, it’s not about what you know. It's about who you sleep with.” She carefully glanced around her. They seemed to be in their own little pocket at the end of the bar, with everyone else in the Saloon dotted around the periphery. 

Elliott gave a lewd chuckle. “Well, who did you sleep with?”

“Elliott!” Agricola gasped in mock outrage and swatted his chest coyly. “What sort of a girl do you think I am?”

Elliott leant closer again, leaving mere centimetres between their lips. “One of irresistible allure.” And the gap closed. His lips tasted ever so slightly salty, from the sea air, Agricola presumed. He cupped her cheek with a warm, ink-stained hand. After a moment they pulled away.

 _“‘Let us go then, you and I,  
When the evening is spread out against the sky  
Like a patient etherised on a table.’”_ Elliott whispered seductively.

 _“‘Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,  
The muttering retreats  
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels  
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells.’”_ Agricola replied breathily and stood up impatiently. Elliott left a handful of gold on the bar and offered her his arm.

 _“‘Streets that follow like a tedious argument  
Of insidious intent  
To lead you to an overwhelming question…’’’_. They left the Saloon, swaying slightly. The sky was dark and the streetlamps glowed a warm yellow.

 _“‘Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”  
Let us go and make our visit.’”_ Agricola giggled as he guided her towards the beach. She could just make out the shape of a little wooden cabin built on stilts above the sand.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” Elliott purred, unlocking the door. Agricola climbed the steps before Elliott suddenly swept her up into a bridal carry and stepped over the threshold, laughing lecherously.

She was woken by a sliver of sunlight creeping through the slatted windows of the cabin. She groaned and felt the weight of a strong, heavy arm slung lazily over her waist. A warm body moved next to her and a sigh drifted through her hair. She turned over and inspected the man beside her. He stirred and rose to his elbow, his long hair draping elegantly over his pillow. Agricola swallowed and drew the sheet up over her bare chest.

“Good morning.” said Elliott, his voice low and rough.

Agricola inhaled sharply, pulling the sheet up further when she felt something brush against her thigh. “Morning, Elliott.” She pursed her lips around for a moment. “I don’t have any pants on.”

“Me neither.” They giggled like schoolchildren.

Agricola looked away. “Listen, Elliott…” She started twisting the sheet around her finger. “About last night… That was a one-time thing, wasn’t it?”

Elliott lay back. “Whatever you want it to be. I take a pretty bohemian approach to this sort of thing.”

“That’s a relief.” Agricola turned onto her side and lay back down on the pillow.

“Besides, with my book I don’t have a great deal of time to spend on actual relationships.”

Agricola snorted incredulously. “So you just skip straight to sleeping with people?”

“Something like that.” They smiled good-humouredly at each other before Elliott captured Agricola's lips in a slow, lazy kiss as he rolled on top of her once more. 

Ten minutes later, Elliott fell back down beside her, panting. Agricola gave a satisfied sigh and closed her legs, then felt around for her phone. 

“Shit, I’d better get back to the farm.” She wrapped the bedsheet around herself and hastily gathered her clothes that led in a suggestive trail to the bed, accidentally pulling it from Elliott’s toned, naked body entirely. She whipped around. “Put some pants on!”

Elliott laughed languidly and sauntered to his wardrobe while Agricola scrambled to dress herself.

The morning sun peeked out behind a cloud when Agricola stepped out onto the porch of the cabin as the waves lapped invitingly against the shore. She wished she could stay on the beach for a while, but she had crops to tend and chickens to feed. She began to make her way back through town as discreetly as possible, knowing the story her tousled hair and half-laced shoes would tell. Quiet as she was, she nearly collided head on with Shane as she turned a corner.

“Morning kid.” He grunted. “You look like shit. You know you’re covered in hickies, right?”

“What?” Agricola tugged her cardigan tighter around her.

“Either that, or you got into a fight with Elliott’s hoover and lost.”

Agricola’s eyes widened. “How do you know I was with Elliott?”

Shane thrust his hands into his pockets and looked into the distance, feigning thoughtfulness. “Ooh, I’m not sure. Maybe the fact that you’re coming from the beach at half past seven in the morning after everyone saw you leave the Saloon with him last night? Just an inkling.”

“Fuck.” she muttered.

“Yeah, I know you did. You’re walking funny.”

Agricola frowned. Now she thought about it, her usual gait had adapted to accommodate for a dull ache in her lower tummy.

“It’s not a big deal though, everyone knows he’s just kind of… randy, you know?” Shane shrugged with a particular brand of apathy that only he could truly capture.

“Sorry, _randy?_ Did I really just hear you say _randy_ instead of horny? Are you several centuries older than I thought you were?”

Shane snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’m twenty-seven. Basically geriatric. I’ve got to get to work, I’ll see you around.”

“Yah.” said Agricola smiling fondly. “See you.”


End file.
